Thirst

by Amélie Nothomb

Humans complain, rightfully, of the imperfections of the body. The explanation is obvious: what would a house be worth if it were designed by a homeless architect?

I had been a man long enough to know that joy is not a given, and that very good wine is often the only way to find it.

People with big egos don’t fall in love, because they can’t stand not being able to choose. They are attracted to the people they pick: that’s not love.

I thank God, reflecting all the while that this really does take the cake, to be thanking him today of all days.

The entire human condition can be summed up like that: it could be worse.

indeed. so could it be better

That really is the problem. You don’t know love. Love is a story, you need a body to tell it. What I have just said makes no sense to you. If only you were aware of your own ignorance!

There’s not a single way to justify it. According to legend, I have expiated the sins of all humanity that has gone before me. Even if this were true, what is to become of the sins of humanity to follow?

How can I explain this in the midst of sacrificing myself? Imagine someone who, in his effort to convert people to vegetarianism, sacrifices a lamb: everyone would laugh in his face.

It’s hard for me to compare. I’m like others in that I only have my own experience to go on.

Dying is better than death, just as loving is much better than love.